


You Didn't See That...Right?

by dtbookworm



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Adorkable, Ben Hanscom Loves Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Embarrassment, Everyone Loves Mike Hanlon, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, How embarrasing, Humor, M/M, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dtbookworm/pseuds/dtbookworm
Summary: Ben ends up dancing in his room to New Kids On The Block when he's alone in his bedroom. Unfortunately, utter mortification shoots through him when Beverly and Mike catch him in the act. While Bev heads to the bathroom, Mike and Ben have a heart to heart about what's on the outside and the inside.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon/Beverly Marsh
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	You Didn't See That...Right?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. Again, I felt as though Mike didn't get enough screen time in the movie. I'm trying to shed more light on his character. Also, Beverly and Ben are my favorite couple in the IT universe. I love these kids!

The Hanscom household was quiet. In any other setting, the silence would've caused someone to fill the noise by turning on the idiot box and watching the news or busy themselves by dusting or cleaning or whatever it is people do to compensate the feeling of loneliness. Ben Hanscom? Oh, he enjoyed the quiet. It was his pornography, so to speak. It was similar to the feeling of being in the library on weekends, taking in the smell of wood pulp and musty tomes that were stacked around him. Of course, he wouldn't trade that quiet for his newfound friends, but he still enjoyed reading about the history of Derry as well as other old civilizations. Today was a good day to do some leisurely reading.

Ben leaned back in his chair and stretched his back. He twisted to the right, then to the left, feeling the bones in his spine pop and crack. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting. Two hours? Maybe three? Time slipped away from him when he was looking over Noir images and sepia photographs of jesters and mummies and women with dresses that touched the ground. Yeah, not the most _exciting_ thing for the twelve year old to be doing on a weekend, but, hey, knowledge is power and all that jazz.

Deciding for a break, Ben opened his drawer and took out his walkman along with the headphones attached to it. Since he was alone, he unplugged them. He was going to go all out, let the New Kids voices drown out the smell of his books cluttering his desk as well as the ones telling him that he should lose some weight. The latter always reared its irksome fangs into his skin when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Well, let's see if the New Kids On The Block has enough horsepower.

He pressed play and the drums started kicking in. Ben bobbed his head up and down, letting their vintage voices fill the space of his room. He held up his fists and started drumming along to the sound, using his books as cymbals. He tapped against the bare spaces of his desks, his knees, anywhere where he could let loose the beat.

The music was really flowing now. Ben stood up from his chair and started to rock out. Arms and legs pumping and kicking, thrashing the air like it was an old dusty rug. He started shouting along to the words, as if he was on stage. His bedroom transformed into a stage with strobe lights. Everyone's shouting and cheering for him. The applause grew louder as he jumped on the bed. Fans went absolutely banana-y when he did the drum solo. Ben's heart beat faster and it's telling him to stop, but he can't. He felt like Elphaba, defying gravity, letting nothing bring him down from his high. Nothing.

When he turned on his bed to strum along to the imaginary guitar in hand, he froze. It felt as though knives composed of ice slashed at his backside. He held in his breath and his legs were reduced to jelly. At his bedroom door, Beverly and Mike were standing side by side, their hands trying to hide the shit eating grins plastered on there faces.

Ben shut off the walkman, but remained standing on the bed. "Oh...I....um...hi."

Beverly stepped forward, arms crossed over her midsection. "Hey, yourself." She looked at the walkman, then back up at Ben. Her smile revealed imperfect teeth that were immaculate in Ben's eyes. "Whatcha up to?"

The warmth that spread across Ben's cheeks was like the Sahara, burnings bright, reducing his tongue to mush. "Just...dancing." He patted his sides. "Yeah."

Mike held a fist to his mouth, nodding his head. "Yeah. We saw." He planted his hands in his pockets. "Nice moves."

Ooh boy, it was getting hot in the room. Ben plopped down at the foot of his bed. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Of course you didn't." Beverly sat at Ben's desk and crossed her legs. Her red dress with white polka dots reminded Ben of freshly picked strawberries. "We rang the doorbell forever."

"But then we looked up at the window," Mike said, examining the newspaper clippings on the wall with a historian's interest. "And thought that maybe you were having a seizure."

"So we let ourselves in." Beverly chuckled and rubbed her chin. Her blue eyes reminded Ben of two infinite oceans that he wouldn't mind drowning in. "And at just the right time, too."

Ben laughed shyly and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. So they saw him even before they came up. Great. Just great. "I was listening to..."

"New Kids On The Block." She winked. "I know."

"What are guys doing here?" He slightly hovered off the bed to check out of his window streaming in sunlight. "Is the gang outside?"

"No, it's just us." Mike joined Beverly's side, resting both his hands on the back of the chair. "I'm delivering meat today and for some reason Bev wanted to ride along."

"Really? Bev, I thought you were a vegetarian?"

"I am. But between being next to raw meat and hanging at home with my _awesome_ dad, the former is the lesser of two evils. I just hope I don't smell like lamb for the rest of the day."

"You smell nice to me. Like strawberries with whipped cream," Ben said. He immediately regretted the words and looked down at his feet, which were pigeon toed. He cursed Shakespeare, Robert Frost, and Emily Dickinson for inspiring him to just make a fool out of himself. "I mean, I'm...I'm sure you'll be fine." When he looked up, Beverly smiled, running a hand through her auburn curls.

"I hope so," she said, running a finger along one of his books. The rings on her finger consisted of swirls and designs that you wouldn't find on any mainstream clothing. Of course, her fish hook earrings was a dead giveaway on that part. "Anyway, wanna ride with? You need to get out of this house."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Sure."

"Great. Mind if I use your bathroom before we leave?"

"Of course. It's down the hall to the left."

"Thanks. I'll be back, boys."

"Hurry up," Mike said. "I don't want the meat to spoil."

"Right," she said. "Because _fresh_ raw meat is any less gross." She left the room. The sound of her army boots hitting the wooden planks made Ben smile. Even her footsteps could do no wrong. She always walked as though she was treading stars and nebulas, not realizing that she was an entire universe with endless capacities. 

Ben saw that Mike was staring at him. He sighed audibly. "I know. I'm a geek. Go ahead and laugh. Hardy har."

"No, man. Not me. Just be glad Richie's not here."

"Oh, God. I'd _never_ hear the end of it. He'd probably make fun of the rolls I have and how it would remind him of an overweight belly dancer."

Mike fixed his eyes on Ben, a slight frown clouding his features. "Hey, c'mon."

"What?" Ben asked, zipping up his Burgundy jacket. "It wouldn't be too far off for Richie."

"No. I meant talking about yourself like that. You seem to do it a lot."

Now he wished he was listening to his walkman again. No one had ever called him out on his self deprecation. Richie's jokes sometimes struck Ben when they shouldn't have. Bill never commented on his weight, but at the same time never said anything up lifting. He had his own problems, what with losing Georgie to that monster. Eddie and Stanley were huge worrywarts on a frogs back and too cautious of themselves to notice anything else. And here was Mike calling him out on it, direct and to the point.

Ben shrugged his shoulders, focusing on the patterns on his wallpaper. "I do it a lot. It's nothing."

Mike sat in the desk chair, elbows resting on his knees. "It's not nothing. It's the worst feeling in the world to look at yourself the way others probably see you."

Ben strained his ears, trying to hear if the sink was running. No. Beverly was still using the bathroom. Whether it was number one, two, or the glorious number 3, he hoped that she would hurry. He didn't like talking about himself like this. "Well, it's true," Ben said, standing. He walked toward the wall. He came to a taped up textbook page showing townsfolk surrounding an old well and made sure the tape was still secure. "I know I'm...that I'm...fat. Everyone does. And don't tell me that you don't see it because you do."

Mike clucked his tongue and looked above Ben's head. His lips were in a grimace, as if he was thinking of life's greatest mystery, like if he could achieve it, it would assuage Ben's fears. "You're right. I do see it. But do you know what else I see?"

"A bowl haircut and puffy cheeks like a squirrel?" He laughed and sat back down on the bed. "Yeah, I see that too."

"No." Mike stood and motioned for Ben to scoot over. Together, they sat side by side at the foot of the bed. Ben could smell him. He had the faint aroma of hay and lamb, an earthy smell that reminded Ben of the remnants of a campfire. "What I see," Mike continued, "is an intelligent guy who _anyone_ would like. Anyone. And anyone who says otherwise doesn't know that beautiful mind inside your head."

Ben made a noise between agreement and pure disbelief. It held no appraisal or self loathing. Water off a duck's back.

Mike looked up at the ceiling and slumped his shoulders. "You know, for the longest, people who have my skin color aren't really treated as people. Yeah, you'd think that the good U.S. of A wouldn't mind adding dark chocolate into the melting pot, but no. Apparently, it's a bitter taste in most peoples' mouths. It's an ugly taste that people spit out and step on. Over and over and over again until...until it's reduced to nothingness. To mush on the underside of your shoe."

His voice was full of knowingness, awareness that Ben noticed. At once, Ben felt a flush of shame. He should've taken into account Mike's history that dealt him blow after literal blow because of his brown skin. Fuck. Fuck, why didn't he take that into account before talking about himself? "How do you do it?" Ben asked, rubbing his knees. "How do you deal with all the hate and the stares and the words?"

Outside, a couple of kids ran by, shouting after an ice-cream truck to stop. The song that accompanied the car faded off into the distance as well as the kids joyous screams. 

"How?" Mike asked. He smiled a half smile and shook his head in wonder at Ben's question. "I try to find the light in people here which is rare. There's light that's tainted by darkness, light that flickers on and off like an unscrewed lightbulb. People like Bowers? Oh, their light is barely a flame. It's there, but it's microsopic as hell. Tiny. Insignificant." Mike shuddered, probably from his earlier encounters with Henry. "Then there are people like my grandfather, people like Bill, Stanley, Richie everyone of you guys. Even you. Your light shines bright, ignites the darkness like a...like a wildfire."

Ben was amazed, astonished. Who knew Mike had a way with words? Not that Ben thought Mike was an idiot. "Wow," Ben said. "Thanks, Mike. That's...I...thanks."

"You can thank me by not putting yourself down and giving into your strengths." Mike taps Ben's temple. "Up here? That's all that matters." He points to Ben's heart. "And here."

Ben's heart beat around Mike's finger. He smiled. His confidence grew from amoeba sized to Jolly Green Giant sized. "Got it."

"Although your rhythm could use some work. Whooh, was that dancing something else."

 _Aaaaand_ his confidence crashed down again. Maybe not crashing, but enough to make him not take it too seriously. "Wow, okay, way to lift my spirits," Ben laughed. "It wasn't that bad. Was it?"

Mike leaned back on the bed and put his hands behind his head. "Oh, it was _bad_. Beverly and I were dying in the street. Hmm. I wonder if all white boys don't have rhythm?"

"Just _this_ one apparently.," Ben said with a resigned tone.

The falling sun outside sent the room into a apricot colored hue. Dust motes floated around them like wisps of untameable light. Ben looked at Mike. If only he wasn't homeschooled and came to school with them. If only he dropped some truth into Ben's small minded classmates. No. Mike's knowledge would be wasted in this no bit town. He deserved to cast his knowings into the world like a fishing net. He deserved to have all the things that his melanin denied him. Ben was sure of that. 

Beverly came back into the room. "Alright. Ready?"

"Ready," Mike said, sitting up. "My meat better not have spoiled."

"It'll be fine," Beverly said, holding the door open for both boys. "Hey, and if it does spoil I can always take it to school with me and stuff it into Henry's locker. Courtesy of the Losers Club."

" _Excellent_." He rubbed his hands together as if he was bitten by Frostbite. "Make sure to add a calling card too."

"Naturally."

Outside, Ben hopped on his bike. Mike examined the meat in his basket and checked its texture, making sure it didn't spoil even though he was only inside for about twenty minutes. Beverly looked into the sky to where the sun was setting. Under the indigo clouds, Ben felt as if he was soaring. It's nights like these that made Derry worth it. And when he looked over at Beverly who was transfixed by the dying ambiance, he knew that some people were better than others.

He pedaled toward her. "Hey, um, Bev?"

"Yeah?" Beverly said with an easy smile. She twirled her necklace that was a brass key. Her gray blue eyes engraved themselves into Ben's heart like amulets.

Ben swallowed. His heart fluttered as he spoke, as he looked into her freckled face. "You know, if you want, you can borrow my walkman if you want. I have all the songs from _Hangin' Tough_. You could listen to it yourself. For, you know, when you can't sleep at night. Or just rock out to when people give you crap at school."

"Hmm. I might just take you up on that offer. Although, I don't think I've got the moves like you do." She ruffled Ben's hair. "You'll have to show me how sometime."

"Uh. Yeah, I mean, I'll...that sounds good. Yeah."

"Good."

Ben rode in the middle, between Beverly and Mike. To his left, Beverly looked like a sentient goddess in her red dress with white polka dots, wearing the sunset as a flaming tiara. Mike pedaled with determination, but a small smile graced his lips when he noticed Ben staring at Beverly. Ben saw him and noticed the encouraging wink Mike gave to him.

Ben remembered the conversation he had in his bedroom. Mike was right. There are people in this world whose light was tainted and would do anything to harm you. Then there were people like Beverly, like Mike, like all of the losers whose light shone bright like diamonds in a wildfire sky.


End file.
